


Reunion

by Ashen_Artistry



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Future Ships, M/M, Multi, OCs - Freeform, One-Sided Attraction, Ranch! Sniper, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-02-12 18:43:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12965976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashen_Artistry/pseuds/Ashen_Artistry
Summary: A rework of my old piece Reunion on fanfiction.net.The mercenaries of Teufort haven't seen each other in ten long years. Now, Hannah Pauling has brought them together for a reunion unlike any other. Friends see each other after a long time apart, even families are reunited. However, when ex Sniper Mick discovers that the ex BLU Spy is in trouble he finds that a kind word and the offer for a place to stay leads to trouble... perhaps more than he's ready for.





	1. Reunion.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a rework of my old Team Fortress 2 fanfiction from about 2 nearly 3 years ago now. This story was one of my favourites to write and I haven't even finished it/done it justice yet, I hope to do so this time! I hope you enjoy.

The insistent ringing of the phone shattered the silence of the night, bouncing off of bleached office walls and rousing the man who had fallen asleep upon his desk. With a grunt, his baby blue eyes opened and a clumsy hand almost swept the origin of the offending noise to the floor before bringing it to his ear.

  
"Hello?" He spoke, German accent thick with sleep as his eyes wandered to the clock. What time was it? He wondered, blinking a couple of times and allowing his eyes to focus on the numbers. 3:36 AM.

  
_"Klaus, it's Pauling."_ The voice on the end of the phone replied, as though that alone stood as a valid excuse for the ungodly hour of calling. _"I'm afraid I'm in need of your help..."_

  
"Miss Pauling? Hannah Pauling?" The man, Klaus, asked as he sat back in his office chair slowly. Adjusting his glasses, he gazed upon the numerous medical tools scattered amongst his papers. Disorganised. "What cause do you have to ring at this hour?"

  
_"I need you to hire out a hall for an evening next month. I would do it myself but, ah, it's a little complicated for me to do so currently."_ Pauling's voice crackled over the phone, her voice as stress filled as it had been ten years prior. Apparently, that would be something that would never change.

  
"Might I inquire as to what this is for, Pauling? If it's for Mann Co, you know where I stand with that company now."

  
_"No, it's nothing like that Doctor, congratulations on getting qualified by the way. No,_ in-fact _this is something else... a reunion. I'm getting everyone who is still amongst us together next month. Please, Klaus."_

  
The Doctor hummed a little and gazed at a picture on his desk, one that now was ten years old. It was of himself, younger, much more adventurous in his medical endeavors... some would argue unethical. He was smiling, stood there in his uniform of red and white beside a colossal beast of a man whose arm was wrapped around his neck. That man was his friend Misha, a wonderfully intelligent and passionate man with a sense of honour that the German himself had never considered having until he had left Mann Co. He hadn't seen Misha since that day, standing before the gates to freedom with only a messenger bag slung over his shoulder and a grin plastered onto his face as he waved and said his final goodbyes... The Russian had been his best friend during that troubling time.

  
"... Alright, I will e-mail you the details shortly, Miss Pauling."

  
_"It's just Hannah now, Klaus... I will be in touch."_

* * *

It had been ten long years that had passed since the numerous men who worked as mercenaries of Tuefort had acted as units against each other. War was over, yet beyond their final goodbyes hardly any of them had decided to keep in contact. Reunions had been rumoured since the fifth year but had become nothing but that, a rumour. Not a single one had gained the momentum and chance of being so close, so very real.

  
After a flurry of calls and months of planning by Miss Hannah Pauling, a real reunion between those once mercenaries was so incredibly close that she could almost taste it. She and Klaus had agreed on the phone, it had been far too long and with his help she had managed to get in contact with all those still alive and much to her surprise everyone had actually agreed. It was wonderful news and the reunion was now only a couple of hours away.

  
Like a metronome, the clock continued to click away in the background as Hannah filed away her paperwork and brushed the dark locks from her face. Everything was in order so far, no one had cancelled; But the decorators had yet to arrive, the caterers had yet to deliver the food for the occasion. On what was now a rather tight schedule, her stress levels were slowly increasing, causing her to pace the hall Klaus had managed to successfully hire out.

  
"What do I do? If the decorators don't show up then-" She paused, shuddering, "oh, the _DJ_ as well... the Scouts had demanded there be one. Ah, but the _food_ is more important! If that doesn't arrive-"

  
The now stressed woman was forced to stop and take a breath as arms wrapped around her petite waist from behind, forcing her to relax against a sturdy frame and give a soft smile. Behind her stood the now ex Scout for what had been the RED team, Nathan. Glancing upwards, she could see his soothing smile and the gentle glisten in those emerald eyes and felt herself relax a lot more. She and the now ex-mercenary had been dating for about five years, a ring now upon her finger signifying their relationship as much more than simply dating. Surely enough, in the five years they hadn't seen each other the Scout had matured greatly. His now baby face was stubbled, frame much more muscled and sturdy than it had been before... his personality too had matured. No longer one to draw the Spy having coitus with the Eiffel tower, the man who had come to her home one day and asked her on a date was an entirely different man. Now she was sure he was going to show once again how he was able to calm her down within moments.

  
"Hun, will you chill for just a little?" He asked, placing his chin on her shoulder and pressing a soft peck to the crook of her neck and shoulder. "Things'll be just fine. Everything's going to work out, decorators, DJ, food and most importantly the guys are going to be here. We've just got to watch out for fights breaking out but besides that everything's okay."

  
As if the prospect of a fight would make her feel better. Despite herself, Hannah flashed Nathan a warm smile and twisted in his arms so she could place her hands on his chest before giving a shake of her head.

  
"I have no time to 'chill', Nathan." She sighed heavily, "there's plenty of work to do and I know that you're going to be great and help me make sure this works... right?"

  
The heavy oak doors were thrown open, light from the street lamps outside streaming in and causing the shadow of the figure in the doorway to fall upon the couple. A beat passed, maybe two, before heavy footsteps caught their attention and turned Pauling from her fiance to face them.

  
"My apologies, am I perhaps interrupting something?" They asked, eyes glittering in bemusement as the slightly embarrassed expression both Nathan and Hannah shared in that moment. "I can come back once you two have finished whatever this is-"

  
"-No, Klaus, please do come in." She responded quickly, cheeks flushing slightly as she nudged Nathan and put some space between them. "You do know the reunion isn't for another couple of hours, right?"

  
"Oh yes, I know. I was hoping to help you set up, if you'd have me?"

  
"Aw man," Nathan laughed, for a moment sounding as though he were ten years younger, "with the doc' Klaus helping us we're going to be just fine! I was starting to get worried too," he teased, watching Hannah's face light up with frustration.

  
"Well, things will get done much more quickly now that our dear Miss Pauling isn't stuck with _just_ our dear old Scout of RED."

  
Laughter erupted from Hannah as she watched Nathan's mouth drop, it taking a few moments before it became gigglish mirth that she could begin to give orders through. They had to clean the hall up and get it ready, the sound of vans pulling up music to her ears as she could finally organise everything else. She was determined, Hannah Pauling, to make sure that this reunion was one that these old mercenaries of the war of Teufort would never forget... and boy was she going to!

* * *

Elsewhere, in the pale glow of a northern bus station, stood ex Sniper Mick Mundy. His old stetson was tipped slightly forward, shielding his eyes from the blaring headlights of the passing cars as they zipped past. How many of his old co-workers were passing him right now without realising? He could only wonder as he shuffled further under the shelter of the station, shuddering in the cold.

  
"Should've just walked," he grumbled to himself as he kicked at a loose pebble on the ground with a huff, glancing up at the dark clouds beginning to shroud the moon and make everything that smidgeon darker. "That or I should've just headed out earlier..."

  
Mick Mundy had always been considered the most laid back of the mercenaries at Teufort. Quiet, efficient, but generally polite and easy to get along with. Well, in most cases that is as his old team's Spy had never quite seen eye to eye with him. In fact, neither Spy from either RED team or BLU had seen eye to eye with him. RED had despised him for his sense of, or lack thereof, style. His attire had always been considered atrocious. However BLU had never liked him without real reason or that he knew of. They had just never truly clicked he had supposed... A chuckle emanated from the man as he considered his old teammate and enemy. Would they be here tonight? If so, wouldn't they get a shock. For perhaps the first time in many years, Mick was dressed remotely smart. Black pressed slacks, a clean white buttoned shirt (with the top two buttons undone), a deep crimson version of the vest he used to wear as a mercenary over the top.

  
A sigh left his lips as he peered down the street in an attempt to see if his bus was coming, grumbling when it was not. A thought struck him, sudden, and he paused. It had been ten whole years since he had last seen any members of the Teufort mercenaries, though it felt like only yesterday that they had all said farewell. Being honest with himself, he had thought that someone would have tried to reach him... he hadn't been that harsh to the others while working with them, had he? He had to remind himself that just like him, everyone had their own lives now. What were they doing now, he wondered, humming as he could see the headlights of his bus approaching at last. He'd find out soon enough and as he stepped onto the bus and grabbed his ticket, he realised just how nervous he was.

* * *

Eventually, the time of the long-awaited reunion came along and Hannah, with Klaus and Nathan, waited with bated breath to see who would walk through the door first. What they didn't expect was for the majority to come together and rush in all at once. They all were stood together, both RED and BLU alike, side-by-side, with massive smiles and immediate roars of laughter. From Pyro to Heavy, every mercenary gathered there was like a child at Christmas upon seeing their old workmates once again.

  
"Right, here we have the ex-Soldiers, Engineers, Heavys, Medics, Scouts, Demo men, Pyros and... only one Spy and one Sniper?" Pauling counted, frowning as she realized two of her mercenaries were missing. Glancing at the clock, she nudged Klaus and hissed into his ear, "Francois and Mick did tell you that they were coming tonight, correct?"

  
"Yes I believe so," the German recalled while scanning the group repeatedly. After a moment though, he pointed towards the door and his face lit up with a smile, "I think one of them has just arrived."

  
Just as Klaus spoke, Mick stumbled through the door while using a newspaper to shield himself from the rain which had begun to fall heavily outside.  
"Holy," the Australian mumbled in shock as he was caught by who he remembered to be the other Sniper on BLU team, Brent. "Where the hell have you wankers been?" He barked out, earning grins all around as he straightened himself and clapped his once enemy on the back warmly.

  
Just as Mick was about to call greetings to Hannah and Klaus, he was bumped into quite firmly from behind and knocked to the floor by the sheer force of it. With a grunt, he turned his head to glance up and make a snide comment to whoever had rushed on in without looking. However, upon looking at the face of the man who'd just rushed in without hardly looking, the ex-Sniper realised that it was someone he didn't think he'd seen before.

  
"Oi, watch where you're going you little-"

  
"-My apologies, Sniper." The stranger replied calmly, a sultry French accent washing over the sharpshooter with a sense of bitter-sweet nostalgia and the scent of cigars.

  
"Holy dooley... _Spook_ "


	2. Catching Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys catch up!

_Spook._ The word was enough to bring back a thousand different thoughts and emotions to strike deep within the Frenchman’s heart. It brought back hundreds of close and deadly encounters, the glint of a blade in the fading sunset, the crisp sound of a gunshot piercing through the air, a rush of adrenaline and the feeling of warm breath against his ear while that word is growled into his ear. _Spook…_

“It has been some time now, hasn’t it, Bushman?” Francois murmured, voice somewhat soft as the waves of nostalgia intoxicated his mind. He hadn’t intended on getting sentimental that evening, far from it in fact, having been content in merely popping his head in for politeness. A smile tugged at his lips, brief as it had always been, swiftly being met by a matching one belonging to the Australian. “You are looking healthy, much to my surprise.”

“Obviously I am mate,” Mick chuckled, running a hand through his slicked back hair while his eyes shone a deep oceanic blue in the light, twinkling with a bit of fun as he nudged the man. “You know me, not much could keep me down for long.” There was a pause as he regarded him closely, making it obvious that he was still in shock at the sight. “Aren’t you missing something, Spook?”

A self-conscious hand raised to his cheek, the ex-Spy being reminded of the nudity he felt without his beloved balaclava. Having gotten used to living a life of anonymity, it was somewhat strange to be so exposed to those he had once hidden from… even ten years later.

“I suppose you could say that, I haven’t had to use anything like _that_ in so long.” He gave a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as nerves itched at his very core. “It was a fine thing back then, nobody knowing who I was… not even knowing a single detail, even my name.”

This was true, nobody but their BLU Medic had known his name. Somewhat an enigma to those around him at the time, Francois had never been one to get attached to his team-mates and he had never been one to share details about himself. There had been no point with all the switching around between RED and BLU; those who were your friends could just as easily become your enemies at the push of a button.

“So, what is it?” Mick’s voice had broken the man from his thoughts.

“Pardon?”

“Your name, mate. What is it?”

Francois let out a laugh, “you mean you can stand to call me _something_ besides Spook?” He brought a hand to his mouth to stifle his snorts of amusement, eyes shining. He caught the slightest of frowns tug at the Australian’s lips, though it did not weigh heavily on his face for long. “Francois, if you really want to know.”

 It was certainly strange for both men as they looked at each other, discussing things so freely and even complimenting each other all for the sake of politeness. It was a foreign language on both of their tongues to speak fondly of the one that ten years prior they would have killed without a second thought. Who knew, perhaps if they had been given the option to do such once again, they may have taken that chance just for the sake of familiarity. Alas, such times were not to be anymore.

“Hey, look over there,” Mick suddenly changed the subject, directing the Frenchman’s attention towards the sight of the old RED Medic, Kai Kranken, and the old BLU Sniper, Brent Mundy, standing nose to nose. Their faces were unreadable, eyes unmoving and hooded. “Looks like some people can’t get over the past, eh?”

“I don’t believe that’s what is happening here, Mick,” Francois commented with a sort of lightness about him, shifting to lean against the nearest wall and observe the body language of both men. Their hands were twitching, possibly as result of unease or perhaps something else, their eyes were hooded which presented a sense of trust… No, this wasn’t the sign of a fight. “If I know these two well enough, and I would believe that I do, what is happening here is not quite what you think.”

“What do you mean?”

“Those two back in the day were quite close,” he gave a small smirk, “though they were subtle enough about their… affections… to not really be noticed. Brent is your brother, isn’t he? I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”

The realisation on Mick’s face was one of the best things Francois had seen that evening so far, enough to stir chuckles of mirth. His mouth hung agape and his eyes were wide, before he’d glanced away as though the scene was suddenly a little bit too private.  

“Crickey.”

Just as the Frenchman was about to carry on his commentary, the cool touch of metal pawed at his arm and caused him to jump in surprise. Dell, the old RED engineer, was smiling up at him with an old fondness that was quite nice to see. He gave a soft hum of greeting, gesturing to one of the abandoned corners of the hall where they could catch up.

“Do excuse me,” he said to the old Sniper, bowing his head politely before following the shorter man to the shadows of the room so that they could talk once again. As he’d turned away from the sharpshooter there was a strange blue and purple patch on his neck that hadn’t been seen before. A bruise perhaps? Who knew, Mick thought nothing of it.

* * *

The reunion was something that could have been considered one of Hannah’s biggest successes when it came to the mercenaries she had worked with for so long. The men she had known for being rowdy and dangerous hadn’t raised a single fist in anger. Instead, laughter rang out through the hall and bounced off the walls along with the clinking of glasses and the clacking of feet on the wooden floorboards.

Standing beside her was Nathan, a fond smile gleaming on his face as he wrapped an arm around her waist. There was talk about taking the reunion party elsewhere, to the numerous bars dotted around the city or merely heading back to their separate (though in some cases, not so separate) homes.

“What did I tell you?” He asked, leaning to press a soft kiss to her temple affectionately. “Everything turned out just fine, eh? Didn’t I tell you? Hm, go on, tell me just how right I am! “

Lips pressed against his and he let out a soft sound, eyes slowly sliding shut as his hands settled on his fiancée's sides. The faintest of blushes stained his cheeks as Hannah stroked his cheek, sighing upon their lips parting.

“Don’t push your luck,” she cooed gently, giving a little smirk as she looked up at him and lowered her hand to his chest, “that is if you don’t want to sleep on the couch tonight.” Her tone was teasing, but her eyes were a testament to the fact that she was quite serious. Once the ex-Scout had seemed unsettled enough she laughed softly, “shall we go home?”

About an hour later the ex-mercenaries were cast out of the hall and the place was locked, they all dispersed into the streets and disappeared. Their laughter carried on the wind, no longer to be muffled by the rain which had stopped coming down so hard.

Mick and Francois found themselves standing outside in the cold, unsure of what they were planning to do.

“So, Spo- _Francois_ , what’re you thinking now?” Mick opened with, staring down the alleyway to their right which, from what he remembered, lead to the closest pub. “Are you heading home, going to the pub?”

“I’m not too sure,” came the response, something almost sad in his tone that even someone as naïve as Mick could understand.

“Why not come to the pub for a bit? Catch up a little?”

It was somewhat alien for Francois to even consider sharing a drink with this man, too many memories of close combat reminding him of just how dangerous he was. Though, despite this, he did consider the offer. A social call may just be what he needed.

“Alright, Mick, lead the way.”

* * *

 

“Wait, wait, so, you’ve only been a short way out from the city all this time?” Francois laughed while taking a sip of his beer, somewhat more comfortable it would appear once alcohol had entered his system. “You are joking?”

“No, I’m not, honest! I’ve been out there for about five years now, it’s a nice old place! Got a patch of land, a few animals to feed and look after, just enough livelihood to keep myself going.” Mick nodded, flashing the man a grin full of pearly white teeth which shone against the tan of his face. “It’s good enough, keeps me going.”

“Sounds… nice,” he offered in response, though his tone was somewhat unsure. Looking after animals and making a living that way was all well and good, but for the man so used to the finer things in life it was not something he would wish for himself. “I suppose for someone like you that kind of life is… fitting.”

Placing his glass down, the ex-Spy gave a yawn and rubbed at his eyes, only now in the ill lighting looking much more his age. Mick took a proper look at the man’s face, something he had never had the chance to do before, and frowned. There were dark circles around his eyes, puffed out and swollen against pale skin. His face was thinner than it used to be, which wasn’t saying much because the Frenchman had always been a bag of bones in his opinion.

“Well, what about you? What life is fitting for you then?” He asked, trying to keep any concern out of his voice. “It’s got to be tough, you look bloody shattered.”

There was a sense of unease as he shifted on his seat, eyes refusing to meet the sharpshooters as he chose to take another swig of his beer. It was bitter on his tongue and helped dull the sour taste that had suddenly filled his mouth, lips curling into a frown.

“I suppose you could say I have been… tired, as of late.” He admitted upon once more putting the glass down, adjusting his shirt a little as he tried to keep his thoughts collected. “It’s my neighbours, they have a bright light they keep shining through my window, pesky things-“

“-Look, spook, I wasn’t born yesterday. You really think some weak excuse like that’ll be believable? Don’t insult me.” Mick cut in with a grimace, watching the man practically crumble with the sudden unease. This wasn’t like the cool, collected man he had fought years ago. He was no idiot, he could see there was a bigger picture.

“It’s nothing to do with you,” Francois snapped a little too defensively, ordering himself another drink while swallowing thickly. “Why are you even asking anyway? We’re practically strangers.”

“Strangers who have tried to kill each other on numerous occasions, yeah.”

“My point remains, you shouldn’t care.” There came a growl before one of the cheapest pints of beer was slid his way across the bar, the Frenchman flinching at the sight of it.

Something was seriously wrong here, Mick knew it. But for some reason, despite his best efforts, he felt as though he couldn’t leave the issue alone. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the memories seeing his old rival brought back, maybe it was some unseen desire to see him back to his old self… Okay, maybe it wasn’t so hard to guess after all.

“I’m just… concerned, is all, spook. For a guy with such fine tastes, you’re drinking an awful lot of crap.”

A dark look filled the Frenchman’s eyes, a dangerous mix of alcohol and a sudden emotional spike. It was something else that Mick had never seen before.

“I don’t want to hit a nerve, mate, but- “

“-no, you want to know? You don’t talk, you let me talk, I’ll tell you.”


	3. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mick has a lot of questions, Francois doesn't have a lot of answers.

Francois stared into his pint glass in disdain, raising it slowly to take a sip and scrunching his nose with disgust. Cheap beer, nothing like the wine he had enjoyed in his youth and certainly nothing like the scrumpy he had been offered as a mercenary by either of the demolition men. It was bitter on the tongue, enough to at least satisfy his sudden need for alcohol; anything to take his mind away from the man staring at him so intently.

Mick, for all of his years as a mercenary, had not lost his touch when it came to being observational. Having once been one which had a target on his back, or rather, head, the Frenchman knew better than to try and fool those dark eyes.  

“I’m waitin’, Spook.”

A frustrated sigh was released, Francois shaking his head before he realised he had run out of beer to delay the explanation he had promised. _God, why had he said he’d explain?_

“I told you my name, it would serve you well to use it… It’s not as though I still call you bushman after all of this time.” He grumbled grouchily, sighing as he ran a hand through his hair. His entire frame screamed stress, tension and frustration; to which would he confess first? “I’ve… come into some _troubles,_ as of late.”

“What _kind_ of troubles?”

Francois’ eyes shifted across the bar, seemingly paranoid of anyone overhearing this conversation as he shuffled his stool a little closer to the sharpshooter. His fingers itched and twitched around the glass in his hand, spinning it slowly across the oak bar-top and finding comfort in the soft scratching noise it made. “Money troubles,” he explained softly, voice suddenly a lot quieter than it had been. “People troubles, it’s a mixture of things really.”

The Australian eyed up the ex-Spy in surprise, looking him up and down before raising a brow in disbelief. The old Spy used to be so much more… cautious? Was that the word? He didn’t seem the type to be in neither money troubles nor people troubles. Well, maybe people troubles.

“What, like… gamblin’ troubles or something?” He asked, seeing amusement shine for a half second in the other’s eyes before a sort of sadness filled them.

“No, not quite,” there was a pause, a sharp intake of breath, before Francois turned on his stool and stood up; his glass being knocked off and shattering to the floor. “Mick, let’s leave. Now.”

“But-?” There was a shout, something incoherent, before suddenly two large men stood up and pointed out Francois. They were speaking a language that Mick didn’t know, maybe Italian, before they began to walk towards the pair. “Okay, got it.” Without saying anything else, he slapped a note down on the table in payment for the broken glass.

Francois had already vanished from sight, something which the Aussie would have found amusing if he wasn’t so self-conscious of the men approaching through the crowd, leaving him on his own. Swiftly, he picked up his jacket and turned to leave, slipping through the crowd and rushing out the door as quickly as he could.

“Where the hell?” He grumbled, looking around with a frown. Putting his jacket on, he immediately ducked to the right of the bar and clicked his tongue in irritation. “Francois?” he hissed, only stopping when something grabbed his arm and yanked him roughly into the alleyway. A hand clamped over his mouth before he could cry out, but the familiarity of the situation made him pause and think for a second. A hand that small over his mouth… it had to be. He grabbed the hand over his mouth and nudged the figure back, seeing Francois filter into his vision and frowning.

“Wait… was that a cloak?” he asked, confusion written all over his face, “but before that, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” With a glare he brushed his sleeve as though it was sullied, an old habit he had adopted many years ago after encounters with the Spy.

“Apologies, and with all due respect _be quiet._ ” The Frenchman hissed, placing a finger over his lips before pushing his back to the wall beside the taller man. Emerald eyes shone in the darkness, something akin to fear glittering with the reflection of a street lamp at the end of the alley.  It was a foreign look on the man’s face, one that the ex-Sniper hated seeing.

The thunderous footsteps powered past the alley at top speed, more chatter in what could only be assumed as Italian being shared between the two men and soon echoing off into the distance. For now, the pair had been undetected.

A tug on Mick’s jacket was the signal for them to move, Francois leading the way towards the opposite end of the alley and through some of the back streets towards a tall block of flats. This block of flats was overshadowed by taller, much more intimidating looking buildings that showed absolutely no signs of life.

“Wait here,” came a command of sorts, one of which Mick sought to ignore as immediately as it was said.

“I’m waiting for answers, that’s about it, Francois. What the hell was that?”

There was no suitable answer to be given, a sigh slipping before there was a gesture given for Mick to follow him inside. If it had been anyone else, the request to wait outside wouldn’t have been half as suspicious. But, considering they had just run from two men who so obviously were searching for the Frenchman, he had a lot to be suspicious about. People problems? It sounded worse than it had initially. As they walked, well, ran up the steps to the flats Mick wrinkled his nose as the stench of alcohol and what was possibly urine made itself known. The walls were peeling from old paint, stained with only God knew what; every door they walked past being stained with the same substance.

“Real nice place,” he grumbled sarcastically, observing the man’s lack of distinguishable expression and frowning deeply. He had a feeling that he’d hit the nail on the head when he’d figured something was seriously wrong, though he’d had no idea what depth it went to.

“We’re here,” came the reply a few minutes later, the silence prior having been almost haunting.

The duo stood before a door with the number thirteen spray painted on in black, its red paint peeling and cracking with years of no care. “You wait here, I have to get a few things.”

With that said, a set of keys were whipped from his jacket and the door was unlocked swiftly. He pushed against the door, hearing a soft _thump_ and giving a groan. Jammed. He tried again to push open the door, nudging against it with his shoulder and wincing as it refused to move.

“Damn it all… The janitor said he was going to fix this tonight!” he hissed, narrowing his eyes and uttering a few curses in French. His cheeks heated up in embarrassment, suddenly very conscious of how much of a mess he looked.

“Mate, let me try,” Mick offered, gesturing for the other to stand aside. He watched with somewhat understanding eyes as the Frenchman shuffled away, bowing his head and eyeing the door cautiously. He didn’t do anything for a moment, thinking, before he jerked forward and raised his boot to make contact with the door; the resulting crash bouncing and echoing off of the walls. The door didn’t budge. “Stubborn little,” he grumbled, taking a step back before once again aiming a sharp kick towards the door and this time hearing it crack and give way; resulting in a yelp as he fell forward into the small flat.

“Mick?! Are you alright?” Francois called from behind him, rushing through the door to see that he had tumbled head first into one of the many black bags that filled the small flat. “Did you land on anything sharp? Did you hurt yourself?”

“Will you shut it? I’m fine, “He froze, looking around at the pile of black bags and frowning in his confusion. “What the hell is this?”

“Mr. Mundy, welcome to my home.”

“What do you _mean_ , welcome to your home?! Mate, this place is a mess!” He stared at the other in shock, eyes wide and his tone aghast at what he saw. For a moment everything from earlier was forgotten.

Black bags filled the flat to the ceiling, hardly giving enough room to move. It was untidy, some unholy stench refusing to leave his nostrils and no window visible in order to be opened. This was so incredibly wrong, especially for a man that had been the BLU Spy. He had been a man of cleanliness, one of order and for doing things in a particular order. Borderline OCD. This was _wrong_.

“Oh, well, I suppose it isn’t my home. I’ve only been here a week, other times it belongs to whoever picks the lock.” Francois explained, shrugging as he shuffled his way towards the kitchen. “Tea, coffee?”

“Fresh air.”

“Not funny,” the Frenchman hissed, sighing and reaching below the kitchen counter to retrieve a suitcase hidden from plain site. “So, you want explanations still? Or do you want to pretend you haven’t seen any of this tonight?”

“I want answers, mate. None of this is normal, not for you. What the hell’s going on?”

“I’ll be frank with you, Mick,” Francois hummed as he shuffled back towards the front door. “I’m in a lot of trouble, and now I can only assume that if _those two_ are here then my other flats are being watched by the others… I need to contact some colleagues, maybe they can- “

“Not exactly an explanation, is it?” The Aussie grouched as he stood up, brushing himself off from dust. “Start explaining _now,_ Spook. I ain’t listening to any tales now, hurry up.”

“I’m in trouble, Mick. That’s all you need to know. You don’t need to get involved, you don’t need to know. The moment you know, the moment they’ll be after you too. You don’t need that, right? You’ve got your ranch, you’ve got your life sorted. Want my advice? Forget tonight, forget the men you saw, and pray that they forgot you. I need to go.”

With a click, Francois vanished from sight and footsteps were heard racing down the corridor. Mick was left stood in an apartment which didn’t belong to him, more confused and angry than he had anticipated he would be.

_Waste of time._

* * *

 

Mick had returned to his ranch that night and carried on life just as the Spy had suggested. He took care of those who helped him around the ranch, he took care of his livestock, and soon enough he had almost forgotten the strange situation he had witnessed. Perhaps it had even been something he’d made up in a drunken stupor, he reasoned, while clearing out the horse stalls of dirty hay.

“Mick, you got a sec’?” A voice called, belonging to one of the ranch workers. “Uh, some ‘friend’ of yours has shown up?”

“A friend?” Mick asked, turning and wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Hm, thanks Jett, I’ll get on that.”

Jett nodded, offering a smile and offering to take the fork from the Aussie to continue his work. He stood at 6’6 in height, with a similar build to the old heavy weapons specialist Mick had worked with years ago. Warm amber eyes shone with happiness as always to be matched with a brilliant smile of white teeth. Long black hair was tied up into a bun currently at the top of his head, allowing his neck access to the soft breeze.

With a nod of thanks, Mick raced out to see who this ‘friend’ was. He jogged out into the main yard for the horses and saw a Land Rover pulling up. He flagged it down, heading towards the driver’s side to see a familiar face.

“Lou?”

“Mick, it’s good to see you again, old friend… I hope you don’t mind me coming unannounced.”


End file.
